Sweltering
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "...It was far too hot."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Watchmen or any of its characters. Though a time share certainly would be lovely!

**Warnings:** This is a story that connects to the movie-verse version of Watchmen. It is meant to connect to the universe of this fandom _before_ the Keene Act (Cannon 1977). This is a Daniel centric-fic, with Nite Owl II/Rorschach slash. Throughout this story there will be the use of adult language, and instances of adult situations. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

_**Sweltering**_

_**Chapter 1**_

_It was god damned hot._

It was the kind of weather that turned even the air into something close to sentient, coming out thick, murky, and oppressive. A sensation that only grew and grew until it finally morphed into something that was alive and breathing, something that squirmed inside your lungs and stuck to the skin like an unwelcome stranger. It was like an itch you just couldn't seem to scratch, an open sore that wouldn't close. _A slow torture._ It was the kind of heat that turned every breath into a chore rather then a necessity.

But next to the ferocious sensation, the word itself somehow paled in comparison. Because in all honestly they had surpassed "hot" nearly a week ago when the temperature shattered the cities previous fifteen year record. It was like living in a bloody furnace.

They had only just finished patrol, but by that time he was already skipping ahead, thinking reldiciously fond thoughts about the perpetual coolness of the Brownstone's basement and the very real possibly of indulging in a long, subzero temperature shower. _Shrinkage be damned._

So really, the moment they had boarded Archie, practically slithering up the ramp in their own collective pools of stale sweat and overheated skin, he hadn't even thought twice about it when he ripped off his goggles and started peeling back the sweat slicked edges of his cowl.

_Or, at least he hadn't until Rorschach had seen fit to get his nose in a knot about it._

In fact, just as he sighed in exaggerated relief, slumping back against the thrumming walls, Rorschach made a sound reminiscent of someone who was caught in between a horrified gasp and that sudden, age long moment of panic where one momentarily manages to choke on their own spit.

He spared his partner a half glance, too damned hot to be overly curious even as he let his goggles fall ungracefully along the grating at his feet. The goggles themselves were so slick with sweat that the straps left wet trials of perspiration across the pads of his gauntlets as he abandoned them to the free fall.

He grunted in frustration as his fingers skidded fruitlessly along the edges of his cowl, eventually getting fed up enough that he abandoned it in favour of working on unlacing his gauntlets. Almost desperate to shed the layers and feel air on his skin once again.

He couldn't help but shiver as the marginally cooler air chilled through the thick layer of sweat and grime that had accumulated underneath his gloves. This time entirely ignoring the disapproving "hrrumm" from somewhere off to his right, and definitely not missing the small squeak of expensive leather stitching as it rustled across damp trouser legs as his partner shifted in the chair beside him.

"What are you doing Daniel?" Rorschach growled. Somehow summoning up both the nerve and energy to sound utterly scandalized despite the oppressive heat.

He blinked momentarily at the censure in the man's tone before the rising temperature and obvious nature of his actions riled him up enough to answer. His growing frustration all too evident as he paused momentarily, struggling through an almost incomprehensible blanket of stifling irritation as he tried to find the right words.

'_What does it look like I am doing? Mowing the lawn, you passive aggressive little bastard.' _He snarked inwardly. Pleased in spite of himself when Rorschach tilted his head to the side, chin brushing against his shoulder in a clear sign of the man's confusion and growing discomfort. And as childishly irrational as it was, he couldn't help the little thrill that ran through him. Knowing he had put the implacable man soundly off balance.

_Sometimes it was all too easy._

Rolling his eyes for good measure, he even went as far as to momentarily weigh the options on his chances of being able to stuff the man into the baggage compartment before Rorschach soundly removed his ability use all his extremities. Unfortunately the odds of that didn't exactly lean in his favour and he knew it. Rorschach was a quick little son of a bitch.

"It's _hot_ Rorschach." He finally bit back. Not liking it one bit as his tone erred on the side of childish petulance before he shook the thought away. _There was no need for that. _Instead he looked the man right in the eye and unclipped the first buckle of his shoulder harness. The action cold cut and defiantly deliberate.

And quite unexpectedly, from there on in, every loosened cuff, every tug on a strap or peeling off of a binding felt remarkably like a dare. Like a risk knowingly taken.

Rorschach simply stared. His body held impossibly still as the swirling blots coursed across the inscrutable canvas of his face. The inky blackness tumbling and mixing together, trickling down along the lines of his lips like a confused grimace before shooting upwards to pool along the narrow lines of his cheek bones. Spreading there like a reluctant blush.

It was somewhere in between the last buckle and the heady screech of the shoulder piece hitting the deck grating, that Rorschach finally found his tongue. Feet shifting then tensing once more from his seat in the co-pilots chair. It was unaccustomedly restless. Even for Rorschach. With the movement itself coming out as edgy, looking more like the pacing of a caged animal then that of a man.

"Compromising identity.. Unprofessional.." Rorschach began, trailing off when the man realized he was clearly being ignored. Because instead of paying attention, he was too busy working on the waist snaps of his utility belt. Snapping them off methodically, with an exaggerated display, making sure the man heard _every_ single one. The sound of Rorschach's hands tightening on the arm rests of his chair was almost breathtaking.

And when his fingers finally loosened the damnable thing, he let the belt fall into an unconcerned jumble. Not even noticing when one of his half moon crescents slipped loose of its bindings and fell through the grating. Instead he turned; sighing loudly as he finally met the man's potent stare for the first time in minutes.

"Like you don't already know." He shot back, patience noticeably fraying as his restless limbs, now shot full of irritation and some heady sort of emotion he wasn't quite sure how to define, drove him to stand. Rising until he was all but towering over the man. Refusing to acknowledge the little voice in the back of his head, newly risen and all but screaming for him back down. _To let it go._

_But he just couldn't. Not this time._

"Rorschach, you have been in my house more times then I can count and have likely _investigated_ me to the point where you probably know my life's story better then even _I _do. So tell me, how much more compromised can a person possibly get?" He finished, arms crossing over his chest as he glared through his sweat damp curls as he watched the smaller man rise to his feet.

_He could practically feel the furious glare…Like heat radiating outwards.._

Rorschach's body language promised violence. It was all but palpable. Because mixed together with the stifling heat, frustration, and the almost unbearable tension was the desire to do something erroneously stupid. Something that would be met with the subtle impact of flesh sliding against flesh, a fully fledged symphony of overexerted breaths and sudden base sounds pulled deep from the chest.

_Something to take the edge off._

Yet Rorschach did nothing. Remaining exactly where he stood, poised halfway between the two chairs. Hands already dug deep in the depths of his side pockets. And he wasn't exactly sure why, but he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed, his tired muscles apparently yearning for action once again, despite their long, but relatively fruitless patrol.

_It was almost as if he was just waiting for Rorschach to pick a fight.._

He supposed though, that the real root of the problem lay in the fact that for the past two weeks, Rorschach had spent the vast majority of the time acting supremely unaffected. As if the ever rising temperature was somehow beneath his notice. He knew it was the heat and discomfort talking, but whenever the topic came up, and the man's masked face would tilt _just so. _All but dripping with that unmistakable emotion of self entitled smugness, he had never wanted to turn around the clock the man more. To send one of his fists flying front and center into that cool, sanctimonious face of his.

Because all else considered he _knew_ for a _fact_ that the man was just as affected as he was. Perhaps even more so given that underneath the impregnable nature of his coat, he had the sneaking suspicion that the man was wearing no less then he usually did. _Christ almighty! How was he even still standing? He was going to cop out from heat stroke._

Regardless, the growing sweat stains seeping down from the neck to armpits of the man's trench were testament enough. Only the problem was that the stubborn little bastard wouldn't admit it. He wouldn't admit that he was just as human as the rest of them! Hell, he had his thin summer-style Kevlar on and he _still_ wanted to die every time they suited up and left the Brownstone. Yet Rorschach wouldn't _compromise. _Not even by a single god damned inch!

And right now, caught smack in the middle of New York cities hottest heat wave in recent memory, sweating out his own weight with a partner that wouldn't acknowledge that it was even happening.. _Well_, it was downright infuriating!

Panting softly, he waved a hand in front of his face, vainly attempting to waft some of the air from Archie's vents over their way. Cursing himself six ways to Sunday as the criminally small breeze provided little relief. ..Perfect..

'_Time for another system overhaul.'_ He thought with a grimace. Not relishing the thought of grounding the ship, and spending the next few days wedged ass deep inside blisteringly hot air ducts trying to increase the intake ratio on the air recycling system. _Cause god knows __**that **__was going to be a hoot._

He turned his head slowly, angling it towards the nearest vent in a last ditch effort. The heat made his movements languid, sapping the energy right from the bones as he dropped back into his chair. _It was just too damn hot for these dramatics. _All he wanted was a cool shower and to get out of these clothes! He just didn't have it in him to butt heads with Rorschach today.

Sighing irritably he shook his head, forcing himself to bend as he motioned for the man to retake his seat. Ready and willing to forget the whole thing so long as they could make it out to the harbour and to the entrance to the sewer tunnels without another incident of near homicide.

Only Rorschach didn't move.

In fact the only outward indication that the man was even breathing at all was the steady ripple of muscles flexing underneath the perspiring layers of his clothes, balancing on the toes of his feet like a panther preparing to spring. Even the man's fedora looked remarkable wilted, with the material having gone loose and pliable in the pressing humidity.

.._Son of a-_

It was making him sweat just _looking_ at him..

..But in fact.. What was more, was that it made him realize something else. It made him come to terms with the fact that he just _couldn't_…He couldn't do _this_ anymore..It was just too god damned hot..

Without him even thinking the action through, he found his hand rising from his side, abandoning the weighty Kevlar for the freedom of the vicious air. And when his hand landed on Rorschach's shoulder, blunt fingertips only just scoring across the limp edges of the man's collar, he felt the small quake of the man's sudden intake of breath vibrate up through his very bones.

And like the last puzzle piece finally clicking home, his hands closed around the trailing edges of the man's cream colour scarf. Slick fingers alighting along the coarse, well worn material, sussing out all its flaws, all its imperfections and quirks, yet always coming back for more. And like a man possessed, a volatile mixture of adrenaline, terror, and something close to a manic sort of desire coursed through him. Burning hotter then any temperature mother nature could ever bring to bear.

Because suddenly, _suddenly_ he just _knew…_

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think, and indeed if you think I should continue. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_Some people change their ways when they see the light; others when they feel the __**heat**_" -_Caroline Schoeder_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Watchmen or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** This is a story that connects to the movie-verse version of Watchmen. It is meant to connect to the universe of this fandom _before_ the Keene Act (Cannon 1977). This is a Daniel centric-fic, with Nite Owl II/Rorschach slash. Throughout this story there will be the use of adult language, and instances of adult situations. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

_**Sweltering**_

_**Chapter 2**_

"Daniel." The man rumbled. His voice a barely legible tussle of base sounds and steadily lowering pitches. _A monotone medley. _With the sound only gradually turning into a word.._a name, _as the syllables took shape, wafting out into the open air like a fleeting echo.And Rorschach's tone was clear. It was a warning.

The fabric of the scarf sighed dangerously across the harsh exterior of the man's trench as he tugged it off. Watching with eager eyes as the stark cream slid down the man's neck in tortuously long increments, framing the awkward bob of the man's Adam's apple as he swallowed convulsively.

_Yes..Like that..__**Just**__ like that.._

"…Don't.." Rorschach managed. Body so still it seemed as though he had frozen in place. His steady, seemingly unaffected countenance betrayed only by the slight tremor that now vibrated up his limbs, making the word itself seem to hitch as it slipped unbidden from between his clenched teeth.

He realized quite suddenly that they were treading dangerously close to uncharted territory. Because somewhere along the way that tension, that _feeling_, had turned anticipatory.._intimate_. As now he knew that the pulses of heat coursing through from synapse to nerve were no longer strictly due to the heat. Much like the rough hitch that had entered his breathing, turning every exhale into a rough, grating sound that only seemed to grow, compounding into itself until it was released into the open. Left with nothing but the compulsion to chase the echoes of the breath that had come before.

After that every _inch_, every _layer_ gone felt like a victory.

With slow, methodical hands he gently laid waste to the man's final barriers and self made shields. Undoing the buttons on his signature, tan coat with such care and unexplainable anticipation that his fingers trembled. In fact, he hardly dared to breathe as he tugged off the sash and parted the sides. A sudden sigh bubbling up from his throat when his eyes took in the sweat sodden material of the three piece suit that laid just underneath.

Rorschach never_ could_ make anything easy.

He nearly lost his patience somewhere in between the third button from the bottom, fingers stumbling over the tiny waistcoat buttons and hooks with an almost desperate frustration. And it was only the sudden jerk from the man standing above him, which kept him from rending it off completely. Perhaps the sappy, day time soap opera's that reeled out during the weekdays were right. Perhaps anticipation truly was its own form of foreplay. Because now he felt as though he could hardly contain himself…_Like he was ready to vibrate right out of his very skin._

The skin that was revealed looked just like he had expected. Jagged and pitted through with a strange collection of both new and old scars. Flushed an almost royal red with the heat, and now perhaps even that of arousal. …However, even he had to admit that the _freckles_ were something of a surprise. They seemed like a surreal sort of oxymoron. An unexpected and somewhat obscene hyperbole when one took in the full connotations of the man's impregnable character.

_It just didn't fit.._

But perhaps more to the point, he supposed the real reason they gave him pause was because they made Rorschach look like something he so often did not, human._ Like something that was venerable.. breakable._. It was a sudden, and somewhat jarring reminder that the man was simply that, _a man_.

A man born and made of flesh and blood just the same as himself.

And he decided in that moment that he liked them. Letting his index fingers trace the auburn pattern down the breadth of his shoulders, slipping boldly across the nape of his neck to play with the very edges of the man's sweat soaked wife beater. Palms toying with the loose shoulder in the same way he did with the flight controls of the Owl ship. His movements precise and well accustomed. His touch more a caress then anything else.

He marvelled all the while at his partner's restraint. All too aware of the gloved hand that was still clenched tightly at his side, now standing out stark and alone against the thin, loosely pressed pant legs of his trousers. The man's belt was already hanging limp and anticipatory against the unexpected, but entirely welcome bulge that pressed up against his zipper. Limbs strained and uncomfortable as the pressure only grew..

_He couldn't help himself really.._

When his fingers hit the edge of Rorschach's sweat soaked mask, he felt, rather then saw every muscle in the man's tight, short limbed body tense, twanging with a sudden stiffness that he knew had nothing to do with that of excitement or arousal. _It was_ _Fear. Rorschach was afraid. _

_And really, wasn't that just a thought?_

He told himself that it had been an accident. That his fingers had simply alighted there due to a natural progression of his hands kneading across those knobbly shoulders, all compacted muscle and pitted flesh, and then up the raspy skin of his partner's neck. But even he knew that was a lie. Because even now, having stripped the man down to only his wife beater and trousers, he still felt unaccountably greedy.

Because unfair as it was, he wanted it all. Everything the man had to give. Everything that he had been thus far denied. Every glimpse, every moment he had given the man and gotten nothing back in return. He wanted him. He wanted this moment. But most of all he wanted a thousand more _just _like it.

Perhaps it was the heat; perhaps it was the oppressive warmth that made him unaccustomedly bold. Because in spite of the strangled noise that issued deep in the throat from the man in front of him, he unexplainably lingered. Letting his fingers skim across the span of the damp, rolled up edges as he leaned in impossibly closer, closing the space between them until the rhythmic exhale of every breath sent the blots into a confused tumble. The ink only spreading as new patterns were born and lost across the length of its living canvas. They were patterns he had never seen the like of before. _Patterns the mask had never made._

…_Still, he knew this face. He knew every curve, every harsh line and pock marked imperfection. He knew it even without having to see it. It was Rorschach. Simply Rorschach…_

And with all the subtly of a train wreck, he found his fingers easing under the finely stitched hem. He shivered as the calloused pads came alive under the exotic zing of prickly stubble as the hairs coursed across his skin. And slowly, _so slowly_, he rolled up the fabric that framed the harsh jut of an unforgiving chin. His fingernails ghosting across the pale length of the man's naked throat… _As if in reminder_.

Underneath his hands, Rorschach had stopped breathing.

He trembled to a stop when his fingers glided across the high, overly defined angles of the man's cheek bones. All neon ginger and flushed skin. The mask coming to rest across the bridge of Rorschach's crooked nose. Much like how the man himself did now again, when eating or pausing to spit a mouthful of blood onto the unsympathetic city sidewalks. It almost didn't seem right to go any further. As if he were on the verge of breaking an unspoken promise or violating a sacred trust regardless of the fact that the man had made no move to stop him.

A sudden thought flittered through his mind, half formed and impossibly fleeting as his fingers paused in mid caress, halting agonizingly along the hard plane of a freckled shoulder. The thought all but striking him dumb…. _Christ!_

…_Would Rorschach really let him do it? Did he trust him that much?_

He felt reldiciously close to hyperventilating at the mere thought…

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_Noble souls, through dust and __**heat**__, rise from disaster and defeat the stronger._" -_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Watchmen or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** This is a story that connects to the movie-verse version of Watchmen. It is meant to mesh into the universe of this fandom _before_ the Keene Act (Cannon 1977). This is a Daniel centric-fic, with Nite Owl II/Rorschach slash. Throughout this story there will be the use of adult language, and instances of adult situations. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Authors Note #1:** This is the second last chapter of this work. Thank you for all your comments and reviews and sorry about the long wait. I got accepted in a history masters program for the upcoming fall semester so ever since my life has been spent preparing! And it has been completely INSANE to say the LEAST. Thank you for your patience!

_**Sweltering**_

_**Chapter 3**_

In the end, an unexpected shift and an abrupt shudder from Archie's engines was all Rorschach really needed. It was almost as if the man had to justify the action as a _reaction_, rather then an action born of itself. .._Like he had to make some sort of excuse to give in.. ..To have this..Him._

And like the decisive flip of a switch, all thoughts of the mask, and indeed the face beneath it were abruptly lost. With the importance of such trivial matters thoroughly overridden by the warm press of desperate skin and fever hot breath as it ghosted across the venerable arch of his throat.

_Christ! _

It was hard to believe that a mere few minutes ago Rorschach had been cracking his knuckles, realigning a few wayward joints as he sweated his way through half dozen layers of clothing. Acting insufferable smug and remaining completed disassociated with the idea of both the ever rising temperature and aspects of personal comfort. In fact it was only the sudden permanence of the thing that made it real.. Of Rorschach… Of _this_ moment.. Because even to him, eyes wide and uncomprehending as Rorschach shifted forward in his seat, the hair on his freckled arms raised like some half feral tom cat, it hardly seemed possible!

_Rorschach certainly was something else.._

But even then he didn't have long to mull it over. Because almost before he could think it through, the man had launched himself at him in a jumbled up whirl of limbs and the obscene smack of moist flesh hitting moist flesh.

And as he looked up, fighting a moment of debilitating vertigo from the sudden pounce, the age old addage of never provoking a cornered animal had rarely seemed so apt.

Coiling up like a wild thing, Rorschach pressed him supine into the floor. Slamming them both to the ground in a jumbled up mess of tangled limbs, sharp elbows and deafening heartbeats. He could even hear the combined, fast paced thrum. Two heart beats battering out in an unsteady rhythm. Screaming for release. Release from the heat. Release from this _tension_..Release from that last, unknown barrier that still stood steadfast between them. The one they both knew, and yet in a very real way also wished they didn't. Because they both knew what crossing that last boundary would mean.

_But, when all else was said and done, the truth was that he was tired of running. Of that he had already proven. The only question was, was Rorschach?_

"Teasing Daniel." Rorschach growled. Hips grinding down almost unconsciously as Rorschach's full weight settled across him chest, the rasp of his Kevlar chest plate grating across the undone clasps of the man's trousers with a harsh vibration of sound. Rorschach apparently unwilling to give him even the slightest chance to wiggle free as the smaller man attempted to corral his roaming hands.

_The man shouldn't have worried..Archie could have been on__** fire**__ and he still wouldn't have moved!_

His breath left him in a surprised rush, the air knocked right from his lungs as Rorschach's knees dug viciously in his rib cage. And for a long moment, without the aid of either his glasses or his goggles, the shifting blots of the man's face seemed to go almost manic. As if they were caught between such a conflicting slew of emotions that even the ink blots could not determine their course.

"Wicked…Uncouth.._Shameful_." Rorschach continued. Words pressing infallibly onwards despite the fact that the man himself looked surprised at his actions, as if the sudden burst of movement had somehow been done without his consent. The idea itself was ludicrous.

But at the same time he was forced to admit that since this _was_ Rorschach, one was generally more inclined to make allowances for the occasional.._oddity_. After all, he no longer batted an eye at most of the things that made it past the man's lips, often regardless of the subject. Rorschach just wouldn't be Rorschach without his brash and often purposeful inability to be either polite, or politically correct. For better or for worse it was simply who he was. The man was surly, stubborn, damaged, and far too angry. All rough edges, poison quills, and unpredictable inner strength. And in all honesty he wouldn't have him _any _other way. Because all else considered, unlike virtually everyone else, he actually liked Rorschach solely for who he was.

_He always had. _

Yet at the same time it didn't escape him that in spite of it all, the man's tone had remained infuriatingly calm. Practically oozing with the same aloof, and almost impersonal nature that he might have even believed save for the fact that the man was currently trying his best to push him through the metal grating, thick limbs tangling together with his own like he was trying to crawl right inside him.

_Apparently he had gotten his answer after all.._

Heat flushed across his cheeks, rippling across his neck and down his chest in a slow moving slide as the thought finally hit home. _Rorschach wanted this. Wanted him. _He swallowed hard at the thought, the pointed throb in his groin returning as an entirely different sort of heat rolled through him, centering up from the where they were pressed together.

_There was only one thing left to do. …Call the little bastards bluff!_

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

_"Summer is the time when one sheds one's tensions with one's clothes, and the right kind of day is jewelled balm for the battered spirit. A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all's right with the world.__**"**_** - **Ada Louise Huxtable


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